


The Shape of a Leaf

by 221BroadwayIron



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Irondad, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark are Siblings (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker Wears Glasses, Peter Parker is Pepper Potts's Biological Child, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BroadwayIron/pseuds/221BroadwayIron
Summary: “Mommy, look at thetrees... They got so manyleaves.”----------Or, Peter gets his first pair of glasses.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this for a fiction writing class. My goal was to try and capture the feeling of the first time I got glasses and could actually see everything. (I vividly recall staring at trees the entire ride home!) That being said, the original version of this story had different characters, so please let me know if I forgot to change anything or if you find any other mistakes!

_This is_ way _different than the regular doctor_ , thought Peter. Instead of a stethoscope and a table, there was a big screen with black letters and different colored squares. It had been funny to watch them go from fuzzy to clear and back to fuzzy again through the machine, but the octo— optomis— eye doctor had done it for so long that it wasn’t entertaining anymore and the seat was making his legs feel sticky. This place didn’t have animal wallpaper to look at either, but the doctor did have a fun chair that Peter spun around on while waiting—much more exciting than fuzzy squares. And here was where the whole world changed. His eyes flashed around the room as he spun, taking it all in with a grin.

The tiles in the ceiling were flecked with blue. The one in the corner had a stain which looked like a sideways octopus. What Peter had thought were funny stripes on a poster on the wall across from him were actually the trunks of really tall trees and beneath them was a man on a yellow bicycle. A bulletin board next to the poster had brightly colored notices hung up with red thumb tacks and green thumb tacks and yellow thumb tacks. There were scratches on one corner of the desk that made an ‘M’ (like for Morgan!) and a dried leaf on the floor and a spider web outside the window. The spider wasn’t there though.

The optomo— _optometrist_ in a blue shirt with teeny white polka dots, who was sitting across from Peter at the other side of the big desk, reached for him, but he ducked away from his hands. He wanted to keep _looking_. His mom laughed and so did the man.

“Did you see his eyes? I do always love watching kids getting their first pair,” he told Pepper, pulling the glasses off the boy’s face successfully this time and adjusting one side with a… a something. Peter couldn’t tell what it was. Now he couldn’t see anything—it had gone all smudgy again, no matter how much he squinted. The man bent behind the desk and then straightened, a movement Peter heard more than saw. He wanted the glasses back so he could _see_.

“Here try that.” Blurred arms reached and the frames settled on his face again. Better, much better.

“Look over at me.” Peter’s mom studied his face. “Those look really good on you, honey. What do you say to him?” She nudged her son, who had gotten distracted by looking at the racks and racks full of shiny glasses frames lined up by the door.

“Hmm? Thank you,” he told the man. He had glasses too, but they were metal and not plastic like Peter’s were. They looked like the one’s his Uncle Bruce wore when he and Daddy were “doin’ science.” (Sometimes they let Peter help and those were his favorite days.)

His mommy paid a lady at a different counter—she had a long purple sweater—and Peter stared, mesmerized, at the way the lady’s long earrings swung each time she moved. _Forward, backward, forward, backward._ They glinted and spun, yet never got caught in the elaborate knot of tiny braids piled on top of the woman’s head. When the lady saw him watching she smiled, and Peter grinned back.

“I can see you,” he told her.

In the hallway, Peter stopped to inspect the design on the carpet. “What are they supposed to be, Mom?” He walked in circles around one set of rectangles, trying to figure out if it looked different upside down than it did right side up, and almost fell over. “Is it a map?”

“No, honey, they’re just shapes. Now come on—” She nudged the boy towards the door “—I have to make the salad for dinner before Dad comes home and steals all my blueberries.” Reluctantly, Peter stopped spinning and trailed after her.

“ _Mom_.” 

Pepper turned around to look at her son again, only to find Peter standing frozen several paces back in the middle of the parking lot, eyes darting every which way and a look of absolute shock on his face. 

“ _Mommy_.”

“What is it?”

“Mommy, look at the _trees_.” She looked. They looked like trees.

“What about the trees, honey?”

“They got so many _leaves_ . How come they got so many leaves? And lookit! All of them are movin’. There’s a red one, and that tree has a yellow one there and there and _there_ —three yellow ones—and that one has some brown ones kinda on the side and _that_ one—”

Pepper smiled fondly at her son’s rambling and crouched down next to him. “I see them. They’re pretty interesting, aren’t they?” Peter nodded, eyes fastened to her face. He’d never realized his mom’s eyes were the same green as the trees. They matched. “I’m sure tomorrow Dad or Uncle Clint can show you how different trees have different shaped leaves. Did you see the clouds already? I think they’re very pretty right now.”

Peter’s eyes darted upward for the first time and his mom laughed at his gasp of amazement. White clouds spread across the sky like paint chips, each edged in golden light. The ones nearest the tops of the trees were slowly turning a light pink. “ _Whoa_ … This is what it looks like _every_ _single night_?” he asked in awe. 

The sunset was mirrored in her son’s new glasses. “Each one is a little bit different, but yes,” Pepper replied as she took Peter’s hand and began walking with him towards her car. 

It was a sleek Audi, one that had always been difficult for Peter to pick out—it was a long, silver blob that too easily blended into all of the other light-colored car blobs in the parking lot. But now he could see their car seats in the back and the Sesame Street stickers he had stuck to one of the windows, way back when he was four. Uncle Happy had grumbled, but Mom just laughed. She said she didn’t mind having Big Bird in the backseat, as long as he didn’t make too much noise. By now, though, most of them had fallen off and left just the gummy sticker residue behind.

For the whole drive home, Peter couldn’t stop staring out the window. There was so much he’d never been able to see before. The yellow signs by the sides of the road had funny symbols on them; a man walking a dog in the park held a dirty tennis ball in the other hand; there was a tree that was heavy with apples by the grocery store; a lost shoe—neon yellow and pink—lay on the side of the highway; near the top of one of the old warehouses someone had spray painted “BOB” and “Dave” in sloppy white letters.

After Pepper stopped at Mama Rhodes’ house—which had brown flower boxes with orange marigolds in them and Mama Rhodes herself coming out to blow Peter a kiss through the window—to pick up Morgan, Peter watched his baby sister. She babbled fluent nonsense and put a plastic block in her mouth (red with the letter ‘A’ on the side).

He had never seen that Morgan had a teeny freckle just on the left side of her nose.

* * *

At home, Peter wandered from room to room, standing in the middle of the carpet and spinning in lazy circles to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Photographs of their family littered the dresser. A fuzzy, grey blanket draped across his parents’ bed. The Captain America sweater he couldn’t find yesterday was hiding under his desk (and he could see the dust bunnies on the sweater when he managed to fish it out). A drip of old paint on the hardwood floors that he must have stepped on a thousand times without knowing. One of Morgan’s toys still rested in a puddle in the bathtub and an Iron Man stuffed animal wedged in between the bars of her crib. The way orange light shone through the curtains and spilled shadow over the wall as a car pulled into the driveway. Downstairs, a door slammed shut.

“Now where _is_ Peter?” came his dad’s voice from the living room.

“Here I am, Daddy! Here I am!” Peter yelled, dashing into the hall and skidding to a stop against Tony’s knees.

“Who? You?” He asked incredulously, as he swung the boy up into his arms and bopped him on the nose. “No… You’re _way_ too grown up to be my little bambino.”

“No, Dad, it’s me! It’s me!” he giggled.

“Nope, I don’t think so… My Peter doesn’t have such handsome red glasses like you do, you know.” One finger dug into his side as he shrieked and wriggled away from it. “Ah, nope, you failed the tickle test, so I guess you must be Peter…” Tony kissed him on the forehead. “Do you like your new glasses, Underoos?”

“Yeah! Daddy, I can see _loads_ of stuff! Like Morgan’s got a ladybug on her bib, and Mommy’s eyes match the trees _so_ good, and you’re wearing the tie with the _fishies_ on it from Auntie Nat!”

“Wow, kiddo, that’s pretty awesome.” Tony laughed at the squeal as he tossed Peter gently onto their new couch (the old one may or may not have been scorched in the last episode of “doin’ science”) and bent to kiss baby Morgan’s fuzzy hair.

Peter had never noticed the way his dad’s whole face crinkled up when he smiled before. It was like his whole face was happy.

  
  


_El fin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? (How was my kid Peter? In my mind, he's about 6 or 7... )
> 
> Fun Fact: My first attempt to adapt this fic had Tony taking Peter to the optometrist (which, honestly, I think fits the characters a little better). That wasn't working as well with the dynamic I'd already written, though, so I switched Tony and Pepper's roles. Maybe if I get the other one edited to my satisfaction, I'll post it as a part two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Pepper's roles are swapped in this version of the story, so there's a little more Irondad, but a little less Pepper. Once again, let me know if you see any mistakes!

_This is different_ , Peter thought. The normal doctor had a table with crinkly paper on it and animal wallpaper. But this doctor—the octo-mo-trist—had a big screen with black letters and different colored squares. He thought it was funny to watch them go from fuzzy to clear and back to fuzzy again through the machine, but then the doctor had done it for so long that it stopped being entertaining and the seat made his legs feel yucky and sticky. Here the doctor had a swivel chair that Peter could spin around on while waiting, though—even more exciting than fuzzy squares. And here was where everything had suddenly come to life. Peter's eyes flashed around the room again as he spun, taking it all in.

The ceiling tiles were flecked with grey. The one in the corner had a stain which looked like a sort of sideways octopus. What he had thought were stripes on a poster on the far wall were actually the trucks of _really_ tall trees. There was a man on a yellow bicycle beneath them. A bulletin board had brightly colored notices hung up with red thumb tacks and green thumb tacks and yellow thumb tacks. 17 thumb tacks. (That was a lot of thumb tacks.) There were scratches on one corner of the desk that made a ‘P’ (which started ‘Peter’ and also ‘Pepper,’ which was his mom’s other name that wasn't 'mom'). In the corner on the floor was a dried leaf and a spider web hung outside the window. The spider was all gone, though. Maybe it was eating dinner?

The eye doctor man (in a blue shirt with little white polka dots), who was sitting across from him at the desk, reached for him, but Peter quickly ducked away from his hands. He wanted to keep _looking_. His dad laughed and so did the op-tom-tist.

“I always love watching kids get their first pair,” he said to Mr. Stark, pulling the glasses off the boy’s face successfully this time and adjusting one side with a… a something. Peter couldn’t tell what it was and let out a huff of air. He couldn’t see anything now—it was all fuzzy, even when he squinted really hard. The man bent behind the desk and then straightened up again, a movement Peter heard but couldn’t see. He wanted the glasses _back._

“Now try that.” Blurred arms reached and they settled on his face again. He blinked a few times. Better.

“Look over at me, Underoos, let’s see.” Peter’s dad turned his head with a hand on his chin and studied his face. With a wink, he tapped his finger on Peter’s jaw. “Looking sharp, kiddo. I like ‘em. What do you say?” Mr. Stark tapped his son again, who had gotten distracted by the racks and racks full of shiny glasses frames in a line by the door. So many colors, so many styles. His were the best, though.

“Huh? Oh… thank you,” he told the man. He had glasses too, but they were metal and not plastic like Peter’s. They reminded Peter of Uncle Bruce’s glasses, the ones he wore when he and Dad were “doin’ science” in the big lab and Peter could watch them through the glass. Sometimes he even got to help when they weren’t doing the dangerous things!

Mr. Stark paid a lady at a different counter—she had a long purple sweater—and Peter stared, mesmerized, at the way the lady’s long earrings swung each time she moved. They glinted and spun, yet never got caught in the intricate knot of braids piled on the back of the woman’s head. When the lady saw him watching she smiled, and Peter grinned back.

“I can see you _so_ good!” he told her.

She laughed and reached over the counter to hand him a sticker. It was Uncle Steve’s shield, and Peter stuck it carefully on his chest to show him later.

“What’s your name, little guy?”

“Peter Stark.”

Peter watched her eyes slide from his sticker to his dad’s face, and then the purple sweater lady got a funny expression on her face. “Stark? Oh, uh—”

“Not as glamorous as it used to be, is it?” Mr. Stark said with a smile and a laugh.

In the hallway, Peter had to stop to eye the design on the carpet. “What are they supposed to be, Daddy?” He walked in wobbly circles around one set of rectangles, trying to figure out if it looked different upside down than it did right side up, and almost fell over.

“Nothing, kiddo, just shapes. It’s modern art or something. I’d ask Mom about that one. Now come on—” He nudged the boy towards the door. “—we’ve got to get home so I can pop Mom’s lasagna in the oven before she gets back.” Reluctantly, Peter stopped spinning and followed.

“ _Dad_.”

Mr. Stark turned to look at his son again, only to find Peter standing frozen several paces back in the middle of the parking lot, eyes darting every which way and a look of absolute shock on his face.

“ _Daddy_.”

“What is it? Don’t stop in the middle of the parking lot. You’ll get run over and then we’ll have Peter-pancake for dinner.”

“No, Dad, lookit! The _trees_.” The man looked. They looked like trees, the same kind of trees that they saw every single day outside the cabin.

“What about the trees, kiddo?”

“They have so, so many _leaves_. And see? Each one is moving. (That’s ‘cause of the wind, I bet.) There’s a red leaf on the big one and that tree has three, no, _four_ yellow ones and that one has some brown ones kinda on the side _there_ and that one—”

The billionaire smiled fondly at his son’s rambling and crouched down next to him. “I see them, Underoos. The trees sure do have a lot of leaves, don’t they?” Peter nodded in excitement. His dad’s eyes were the same rich brown color as the tree trunks, except they looked warm and not scratchy like the bark was. “I’ll bet tomorrow Uncle Clint can show you how different trees have different shaped leaves. He’s into that nature stuff. But have you seen the clouds already? They’re looking pretty cool right about now.”

Peter’s eyes darted upwards for the first time and his dad laughed at his gasp of amazement. Delicate white clouds spread across the sky like paint chips, each edged in gold light. The ones nearest the tree tops were slowly becoming a light pink. “ _Whoa_ … Is this what it looks like every night? Every _single_ night?” 

Mr. Stark could see the sunset mirrored in the lenses of his son’s new glasses. “Well, every night is a little bit different, kiddo, but yep,” he replied as he took Peter’s hand in his own and began walking with him toward their car. “Remind me to show you the stars tonight.”

“‘Kay!” Peter replied with a skip.

Their car was a slim black Audi, one that had always been easy enough to pick out—it was a long smudge of dark mixed with red, because the racing stripes that ran along the sides. Now Peter could also see speckles of dirt over the back wheel from the dirt driveway at their cabin and the Sesame Street stickers he had stuck to one of the windows (to Uncle Happy’s great frustration), back when he was four. Elmo looked like he was waving at them. The license plate even had their name right on it—STARK!

For the entire drive, he couldn’t stop staring. There was so much Peter had never been able to see. The green signs by the road all had lots of words and numbers across them; a man walking a dog held a dirty tennis ball in the other hand; there was a tree that was heavy with apples by the grocery store Mommy liked; a lost shoe—dark blue and bright orange—lay on the side of the highway with a yucky sock; near the top of the rock cut someone had spray painted a mess of multicolored graffiti.

After Mr. Stark stopped at Mama Rhodes’ house—which had flower boxes with peeling paint and orange marigolds in the front and Mama Rhodes herself bustling out to give him a kiss and a cookie through the car window—to pick up his baby sister Morgan, Peter stared at her. She babbled fluent nonsense and put a plastic ring into her mouth before holding it out to him.

Peter had never seen that Morgan had a little freckle right on the left side of her nose.

* * *

Back at the cabin, Peter wandered from room to room, standing in the middle of the carpet and spinning in lazy circles to be sure he didn’t miss any of the new things he could see with his glasses. Photographs of their family on the dresser. A yellow blanket on his parents’ bed that his mom liked even though Peter thought it was scratchy. The sweatshirt he couldn’t find when they were going to the park yesterday hiding under his desk. (And the dust bunnies on the sweater when he finally managed to fish it out.) A drip of white paint on the hardwood floors. One of Morgan’s toys still sitting in the bathtub in a little puddle of water. Another toy (the stuffed spider Auntie Nat bought her) wedged in between the bars of the crib. The way orange light streamed through the curtains and spilled shadow over the wall as a new car pulled into the driveway. A door slammed shut.

“Where’s my favorite little boy?” called his mom’s voice from the living room.

“Here I am, Mommy! Here I am!” Peter yelled, dashing into the room and almost knocking her over.

“Hmm, you?” She asked incredulously and picked him up very seriously to inspect him. “No, it simply can’t be… You see, you’re _far_ too grown up to be my Peter.”

“No, Mommy, it _is_ me! It is!” he giggled, bouncing in her arms.

“Well, I don’t know… My Peter didn’t have such handsome red glasses like you do.” She planted several kisses very rapidly on both of his cheeks, followed up by one more on the ticklish spot on his neck which made him wriggle. “Aha, you did pass the kissing test, so I guess you must be Peter after all…” She kissed the boy one last time on the forehead. “Do you like your new glasses, sweetheart? They look very nice on you.”

“Yeah. Mommy, I can see _loads_ of stuff! Like Morgan’s got a bum-bee on her bib and you’ve got a fancy necklace on ‘cause you haded a _big_ meeting today and Daddy’s shirt’s got the funny peppers on it!”

“Wow, honey, that’s pretty awesome.” Pepper laughed at his squeal as she plopped him gently onto their new couch and bent to kiss Morgan’s dark fluff of hair. Morgan gurgled and held out a green block to her, shiny with spit.

Mr. Stark stepped out of the kitchen to greet his wife, and Peter had never noticed the way his whole face crinkled up when he smiled before. Or the way Mrs. Potts' expression grew soft as she turned her face up to give her husband a kiss.

He could see.

  
  


_El fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... which one did you like better?


End file.
